


Edge

by lanri



Series: Unseen [10]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Angst, Drabble, Gen, Pre-Series, Unseen 'verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-07
Updated: 2014-04-07
Packaged: 2018-01-18 11:24:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1426696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lanri/pseuds/lanri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The two of them, they’re always teetering there. Two short drabbles, first one pre-series and second one during S2 time period.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The first time Dean had gotten drunk off of cheap beer on his sixteenth birthday, Sam could remember him being goofy, affectionate, and altogether ridiculous. Sam had picked up quite a bit of ammo to use for brotherly teasing after that night. 

A happy drunk. That’s what Dean was. 

Key word, was. 

“C’mon, Dean. You should go to bed.” Sam felt across the table towards the place he had heard the ‘chink’ of glass on wood until his fingertips touched the bottle. He reached, but the glass slid away, and he heard Dean take another pull from the bottle. “What are you drinking?” he asked. 

“None of your business,” Dean growled. “Go away, Sammy.” 

“No.” Sam nervously considered lunging for the bottle, but chances were he would go for the wrong hand. “Stop drinking, Dean.” 

“You’re not Dad. Don’ tell me whatta do,” Dean slurred. 

“I’ll tell Dad,” Sam threatened. It was the wrong move. 

“Like I care. I’ll drink when I want,” Dean said pugnaciously. 

Sam slumped down against the table, allowing himself one second of self-pity as he let his head thunk against the table. If he could only see, and . . . 

“What’s wrong, Dean?” he asked softly. 

Dean snorted. “What’s wrong? Try what isn’t wrong.” 

“Yeah?” Sam prompted. 

“Let Sammy get blinded. The look on his face, I couldn’t . . .” Dean hiccuped. Sam felt like crying. 

“Dean, that wasn’t your fault,” he tried. 

“Sam’ll never get to see again, ‘cuz of me. Won’t get to see any girl he kisses, won’t get to see sunsets. Not even a friggin’ rainbow.” 

“Shut up,” Sam cried desperately. “Just shut up!” 

There was a pause, and Sam hoped Dean was really looking at him. 

“Sammy?” 

Sam reached out and found the bottle, pulling the liquor away from his brother’s lax hand. “You need to go to sleep, okay?” he said, unable to cover up the quaver in his voice. “Please, Dean.” 

“Kay, Sammy.” Sam heard Dean’s ungainly shuffle as he got to his feet, and eased himself around the table in search of his brother. Dean’s arm, sloppy with drunkenness, landed across his shoulders. 

“C’mon,” Sam said, tugging Dean in the direction of the bed. Approximately ten steps to reach it. Sam had counted, earlier. 

“Sammy. You can’t see,” Dean mumbled. 

Sam bit his lip. “Yeah, Dean.” 

“Do you miss it?” Dean asked. 

“No,” Sam lied. 

Sam’s knees finally hit the mattress, and he manhandled Dean around to get him at least partly on the bed. Tugging at Dean’s arms, he thought he got Dean’s feet on the bed as well, though he wasn’t sure. 

“C’mere, Sammy.” Sam heard a sound like the bed being patted and hesitantly started towards the noise. He yelped as Dean grabbed him and yanked him down. “Slowpoke.” 

“Jerk,” Sam returned. 

Dean pulled him close with an arm around his waist. “I’m so sorry, Sammy.” 

“It wasn’t your fault,” Sam whispered, but Dean was already out. 

Sam hadn’t prayed since the Hunt, but as he curled up in Dean’s arms, he found himself pleading. “Just don’t let Dean fall,” he whispered. “Not because of me. Please. I’ll do anything.”


	2. Chapter 2

Splitting up was never a good idea, even not on a hunt. Dean should’ve remembered that, but when he was honest with himself, he wasn’t doing so hot in the thinking department. And despite the fact that they had just met Ellen and Jo, the two Harvelles seemed decent. So he left Sam with them. 

But walking back into the Roadhouse, Dean felt his jaw drop. 

Sam Winchester, professed straight and narrow, sitting at the bar, drinking hard liquor. Dean cursed internally. This could only be bad. 

“Ellen?” he growled as he drew close to the older woman. 

“You might want to get over there,” she said. Her face held a little guilt, otherwise Dean would’ve blown up in anger. 

“What were you thinking, letting him drink like that?” he hissed. 

Ellen drew herself up. “I was thinking that he’s a grown man, and doesn’t need to be treated like a child,” she snapped. 

Dean sighed, wiping a hand across his face. “I know. I’m sorry.” 

Ellen’s face softened, and her hand dropped onto Dean’s shoulder. “I talked to him. I know you two are going through a rough time. Just pull him together, okay?” 

Dean grunted in acknowledgement, and headed over to Sam. 

“Sammy,” he said agreeably as he sat down next to him. 

“G’way,” Sam slurred. He must’ve had more than Dean thought. 

“No can do,” Dean said lightly. He discreetly slid the bottle away from Sam as he spoke. “Got this annoying little brother who is acting a little out of character.” 

“Screw you.” 

“Case in point.” Sam was wearing his dark glasses, common enough when he wanted people to know he was blind so they would stay out of his way. Not looking for company. 

“Wanna be alone,” Sam confirmed for Dean. 

“Yeah, well. How ‘bout we be alone together, huh?” Dean gently pulled at Sam’s upper arm, and grabbing Sam’s cane with his other hand. 

“That doesn’t . . . that doesn’t make sense,” Sam mumbled. 

“Uh huh. We’ll think about it in the room, okay?” He steered them clear of a rowdy band of hunters and into the back, where Ellen and Jo had offered them beds for the night. 

“It’s so dark,” Sam whispered. Dean winced. Sam was even more drunk than he had originally assessed. 

“You’re blind, remember?” he said bluntly, struggling to keep a swaying Sam upright as he pulled their bags off of the bunk bed. A drunk Sam tended to be a giant floppy octopus. A giant floppy octopus with smelly breath. 

“Every day,” Sam responded, voice surprisingly bitter. 

“Okay, Sasquatch.” Dean lowered Sam onto the lower bed and kept him from bashing his skull on the top bunk. “We’re getting you to bed, okay?” 

“Can’t sleep,” Sam complained. 

“Why’s that?” Dean asked absently as finagled Sam into the center of the bed. He went for Sam’s shoes, next. 

“Nightmares.” There was real fear in Sam’s voice, which unnerved Dean. If Sam hadn’t been drunk, it would never have been revealed. But there it was. 

“Nightmares aren’t so bad,” he commented. 

Sam rolled his head like he was trying to shake it. “All my mistakes. Parade of ‘em. Mom, Jess, Dad. Fire and blood. One by one.” 

Dean ignored the clench in his chest at Dad’s name and focused on the others. “Mom’s death wasn’t your fault, Sam. Neither was Jessica’s.” 

Sam slammed his hand into the bed. “They were. And you’ll be next. And you know it,” he snarled. 

Dean was at the end of his rope. “All right, Sam. Enough. You’re drunk, and nothing you say is going to help. So can it.” 

“I never help. Always a burden,” Sam’s fury had melted into listlessness. Dean really hated his life. 

“Sleep,” he decided. Once he finally had Sam under the covers, Dean sat back with a sigh. 

“Do you hate me?” Sam’s voice was small. 

“No, Sam.” 

“For Dad’s death? Why don’t you hate me?” 

The flash of pain hit him once more, and Dean closed his eyes, wishing he could just walk out on his brother. “Sam, I don’t hate you. And D-dad’s death wasn’t your fault.” 

“I hate me. I don’t know why you don’t.” And Dean could swear Sam sounded five years old. 

“Enough of the doom and gloom, emo-boy,” Dean said, pulling out Sam’s gun from his pocket. “It’ll be better in the morning.” 

“But it won’t,” Sam murmured. 

Dean removed Sam’s glasses and stared into his brother’s milky white eyes. “Yeah, it will be,” he promised. “You won’t see it, but it will. Don’t you trust me?” 

Sam’s bitter, pained expression melted into something vulnerable. “Yeah, Dean. Trust you with my life.” 

“Then trust me. It’s going to be okay. Go to sleep, Sam.” 

“G’night, Dean.” 

Dean comforted himself with the fact that Sam wouldn’t remember anything in the morning, and allowed himself to drop a kiss on Sam’s forehead. 

“Good night, Sammy."


End file.
